Russian Roulette
by runswithrain
Summary: "She is bones, cracked and dry in the desert." The real war isn't between evil and good. It's between Hermione and herself.
1. i

You are my sweetest downfall  
>I loved you first, I loved you first<br>beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth  
>I have to go, I have to go.<p>

(Samson, Regina Spektor)

* * *

><p>Truth as a concept in and of itself, as Hermione is almost 99% certain, is a complete and utter fallacy. There is no absolution in life, no black and white, no certainty. Nothing is set in stone. There are of course books, printed and bound in their permanence, and numbers. Important things like those which ironically are not as important to the state of one's being.<p>

But there is no magic book or numerical formula to generate happiness. Otherwise, she would know.

In retrospect she should have taken this inherent knowledge that truth is, in fact, _rubbish_ – and kept it in the forefront of her mind like a glaring floodlight. Otherwise, how is she to protect herself from lies? If she expects no truth, then she can never be hurt from the lack of it.

Rather, if she expects no truth other than her own, she will never be let down. It's always possible to lie to yourself, but it's impossible not to recognize the lie or the act of telling it. Every single person in the world possesses a different version of truth. All she wants is her own, the reality she knows without a doubt that will not fail her. She can lie to herself but it will never be a good, true lie. She will always know everything in her own head.

It's a difficult time she lives in, what with the war and all those blasted death eaters sneaking around, and Hermione knows that while she has her parents and her friends from school and Harry and Ron – sweet, sweet Ronald – at the end of the day all she has is herself.

And what can sway her from this base knowledge? It's something simple she has taken to like glue. It is the easiest way, she swears by it. The easiest way, the easiest way.

It's sad. She doesn't know what flipped the switch and brought her upon such a negative view of the world. How is it to live when you can barely breathe for fear of alerting an enemy to your presence?

She's ruined to a certain degree beyond outside help. It doesn't take someone with marks like hers to understand that at the very core of their beings people are easily damaged. She's experienced too much and seen too many bad things to continue without putting up walls. And she'll be damned if she lets anybody past her walls. She's never completed a task at which she only gave half her effort – slacking is for stupid people, and ferrets. There's no influx of emotion that she can't readily anticipate, no endangering of her mind any further. She's certain of these facts, moreso than anything else she has ever bothered to memorize.

00

_The Order of the Phoenix was a hard place to be. Since Draco Malfoy had abandoned the Dark Lord and joined the cause, the dynamic had changed. For one, all of the younger members that had been in school with him were extremely uncomfortable. The older members seemed to feel the same at first, but Malfoy had explained his story to Lupin and Moody and gained their favor. This alone left Hermione speechless: how someone could trust a lying, conniving twit was beyond her. But that was why he hadn't chosen, say, _her _to tell his life story to when asking to join The Order. Hermione knew next to nothing about him and, therefore, his motivation as well as the situation itself._

_On that particular evening the sky was darkening outside of 12 Grimmauld Place and Hermione sat solemnly on the sofa watching Harry pace. He walked in tense silence, seemingly at war with himself, for a very long time. _

"_Do you think we can trust Malfoy to come with us?"_

_Hermione's eyes flicked between Harry and the clock. "I'm not sure. But if Remus and Alastor believe him about the horcruxes – and who knows how he managed to convince Moody – then I suppose we have no choice but to trust him."_

_Harry raised an eyebrow. "You trust him?"_

"_No," she said quickly. "I just meant that for now we'll have to listen to what they say and go along with the plan." She paused to take a breath. "A plan that now includes him."_

_Harry thought briefly before nodding and running a hand through his tousled hair. "I suppose you're right. And Malfoy is decent at magic. He'll be useful. I guess that means he's coming with us, then. For real."_

_Hermione took a deep breath. "To destroy the horcruxes and end this war once and for all," she said to herself. Repeating her mission seemed to further cement the reality of the situation. The fact that Malfoy was now involved had exponentially increased her doubt that she was, in fact, still in touch with reality._

_Everything was far too crazy for her nowadays._

* * *

><p><strong>edited: 21/2012**


	2. ii

Hermione Granger is tired of running away. She's not a confrontational person by nature, but she is certainly no runner. Confrontation to an extent is necessary and practical in order to ensure a situation continues smoothly. Regardless of the confrontations she's lived through for the more critical seven years of her life she'll never change; of this, she's almost completely certain.

She wears a black skirt and button-down blouse to her job at Flourish and Blotts for the fourth day in a row. She easily smiles at her co-workers as she puts her cloak and bag away in the back room, moving through doors mindlessly to get to the books that needed re-shelving. The large stack looms before her and she pauses.

Hermione is never daunted by books. They never trick her, or deceive or fool her.

She has taken to reading the end of novels before even starting them. She skims textbooks instead of absorbing them and she cannot remember for the life of her when that started happening.

She uses her wand to levitate the books from the shelf and bring them along to the various aisles of the store, pointing to where they need to go.

She can spend hours pacing up and down the endless rows and shelves, brushing past the few people in the store on a Sunday afternoon.

Turning a corner suddenly, she mumbles a quiet excuse me as she rams into a tall man. He steadies her with one hand around her upper arm and she looks up to him.

Easy brown eyes lost in a simple face. "Pardon me, miss..."

"Granger," she tells him mechanically.

"Miss Granger," he finishes. He eyes the towering stack of books that follows her obediently. "My, that's quite a few books you have there, isn't it?" He chuckles.

She nods and smiles politely.

"Say, you look familiar," he begins.

Something in Hermione's spine tightens and her eyes squint at the man's face. Does she know him? Does _he_ know _her?_ Surely she would remember if she's met him before. Has he been _watching her?_ She subconsciously takes a step back and smooths down her skirt.

"Do I?" She says lightly, feigning indifference. "I suppose I just have one of those faces, then," she smiles. Her act is convincing, she's sure. Her heart nearly pounds out of her chest but her face is still.

The man nods a bit and shrugs. "Well, perhaps you do."

She stares and stares. Her shoulders are tight.

"It was nice to meet you, Miss Granger," the man says. He tips his hat at her and walks away and out of the store.

Hermione lets out a shaky breath and holds herself around the middle. Never once does she consider that he knows her face from The Daily Prophet, from her association with Harry, the war, or the order. She continues down the aisles returning books.

In a matter of five minutes, a disturbing chill sweeps over her frame and she shudders. Someone is watching her, she's sure of it. She glances behind her, sweeps a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Nothing. Rain begins to fall outside. The store has, oddly, emptied.

This is something she doesn't understand about herself. She knows –_ knows_ – that her co-workers are still in the store and her boss is lurking in the back somewhere. But she feels alone. She feels singled out and stalked. She has that nasty feeling in her skull, the same feeling that tells you not to dangle your limbs over the side of the bed at night for fear of something hiding underneath. She suddenly wants to cry and she can't fathom why.

She clutches her wand in her hand and continues shelving books simply because she has nothing else to do. There is no relief and the feelings remain. There is nothing she can do.

Every single time she looks over her shoulder she imagines a green flash, black robes and impossibly evil, knowing eyes that she cannot place.

00

_Hermione sat on the ground shivering despite the warming charm she'd cast around herself and gripped her hands together stiffly. The fire in front of her did little except to provide a comforting light in the dead of the woods. The wards and protective charms she had cast around the encampment were sure to hide her and the rest of the group from sight; but she couldn't help it. She was born paranoid. Every crack of a twig seemed infinitely louder than she logically knew it ought to be._

_She glanced behind her at the tent the boys were sleeping in. It appeared quite small from the outside but was charmed to be exceptionally spacious on the inside, like all magical tents. It contained a table with several chairs and four beds – one for each of them. It was plain and simple as it wasn't meant to accommodate people for a long period of time. _

_Ron had been weary of falling asleep in close vicinity to Malfoy, she remembered. The blonde had smirked at Ron's reddening face and stayed silent as Harry told them to calm down. Hermione had been in the middle of cleaning dinner dishes and smiled silently with her back facing the group. _

_She had discovered an odd sort of respect for him somewhere deep in her. It felt unnatural and wrong despite the way she constantly reminded herself that he was okay. Because he was – truly. He had renounced all desire to join the Dark Lord and his regime. Draco Malfoy was, in essence, a changed man. She couldn't say the same for most of the qualities he still possessed. He had his moments of arrogance and still carried himself as if he was superior to everyone else but she couldn't begrudge him that much as she wanted to. It was just the way he had been raised and taught to treat other people. Full change was a process, she knew. She was simultaneously reluctant to admit she saw him trying and reluctant to accept it. She had spent so long hating him..._

_She shifted on the ground a bit. Her heartbeat sped up as she heard peculiar rustling noises from behind. _

_Hermione whipped around and stood, wand drawn, as she saw a dark figure emerge from the tent._

"_Lumos!" she shouted._

_Red hair glinted in the light._

"_Ronald!" she cried. "You-you _terrified _me!" She clutched her chest and watched Ron shrug sheepishly in the moonlight._

"_Sorry," he mumbled. "What are you doing awake?" _

"_I could say the same for you," she said carefully. She turned back to the fire, sat and curled tightly around herself. "I just couldn't sleep and wanted time to think."_

_They stood in amicable quiet for a few minutes. _

"_You're thinking about Malfoy," Ron told her. She didn't bother to answer. "I can tell by the look in your eyes."_

_Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. "I just…everything seems so wrong, doesn't it? We should be at school and instead we're camping out in the woods chasing horcruxes, we should be hexing the pants off of Malfoy but instead we're sharing a tent – it still just rubs me the wrong way, a bit," she said. Ron chuckled at her._

"_Hexing his pants off?" he smiled._

"_Oh, you know what I mean," Hermione waved him off. Ron looked at her for a bit as she turned her attention back to the fire, clutching her knees to her chest. She felt him staring at her and shifted a little._

"_Is everything okay?" she asked, suddenly nervous. He moved closer to her._

"_Hermione…" he started. She watched his eyes, full and deep like the ocean, trying to tell her something that she probably wasn't ready to hear._

"_Ron," she answered. He struggled with something briefly before clenching his jaw._

"_You know that I…care about you," he started. She felt her shoulders tense. His face was reddening at an alarming rate despite the dark night and crisp air. "A bit more than Harry I should think," he added._

"_Now, Ron, don't go trying to create a bias," Hermione joked. This was his chance for escape; she was giving him the option to back down. She for one didn't want the dynamic to change..._again._ She didn't feel the same. She knew he liked her, saw the way he watched her. Now wasn't the time – they were in the middle of a war. And she couldn't picture herself with him. She had tried, numerous times, because it made sense. At one point she would have jumped at the chance to have this conversation with him. One point circa the Yule Ball fourth year, but not now. _

"_Hermione, you know that's not what I'm getting at," he mumbled. So he hadn't taken the chance she had given him. She felt indescribably uncomfortable, which was ridiculous, because it was Ron for Merlin's sake. _

"_I know."_

"_I care about you more than the way Harry does, because Harry only cares about you as a friend," Ron added. She understood; she was a smart girl._

_Her mind incessantly flicked to the fourth member of their group asleep in the tent. Who were his friends, now? Did he consider them all to be friends? She scoffed internally. Why in the blazes was she thinking of him at a time like this?_

"_I don't know what to say," Hermione finally told him. She slouched. "You know now is not a good time for this…the war has to be our priority."_

"_But don't you see? If things don't end up well, then we'll – everything will be over and we'll never have known!" Ron said desperately. _

_Hermione squinted at the flames. "You're worried you'll die," she stated. Ron's silence confirmed her question. "Ronald. You are not going to die. You can't think like that. Hope is our strongest weapon against Him," Hermione said gently. She put a hand on his arm._

"_Hope is all we have," she said. He looked at her carefully. _

"_Maybe," he amended. He deflated a bit. He was stubborn. He wouldn't recognize that his feelings for her were simply due to his fear, she knew. At least not until everything was over. He stood and walked back inside of the tent without another word. Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists in frustration. It wasn't fair of him to put that on her at a time like this. She sat heavily on a tree stump and took a deep breath._

_She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't hear the tent open once more as another person stepped out into the night, several minutes later._

_Malfoy stood still for a moment and watched her. _

_Hermione would probably never know, but this was where everything changed for him. It was enough to push him over the edge when he saw her shivering in the dark by herself._

_He sat down and felt her jump._

_She put a hand to her heaving chest for a second time that night._

"_What is with you all and scaring me? Is it not enough to be stranded in a forest at night? Must you _insist _on sneaking up on me every five minutes?" Her hand moved to her throat. She gripped it tightly until she was uncomfortable and squeezed her eyes shut; anything to slow the flow of blood to her pounding head. _

_Malfoy reached up and softly pried her fingers off. He placed her hand back on her lap. She watched him in surprise. His face was unchanging as he turned to look at the fire. Her hand tingled._

"_Calm down," he said, monotone._

_She frowned. "Don't tell me what to do."_

"_Don't start something, Granger," he rolled his eyes. "It's too late, I'm tired, you're tired, and I know you're upset about _something_. Neither of us needs a pointless argument right now."_

_She stiffened. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She opened her mouth as if to retort but shut it quickly as if she thought better of it. The tiniest inkling of a nasty smirk inched its way onto his face. There was the Malfoy she knew. Comfort seeped through her limbs and she relaxed._

"_What are you doing out here?" she finally asked._

_She had a strange sense of déjà vu. Everything was repeating and coming full circle. _

_Malfoy ignored her at first, simply breathing. She looked at his hair, white in the moonlight and messy in the late hours. His face was smooth and carefully blank, pale eyes lost in thought. He didn't look like he wanted to speak at all. Hermione felt relieved; after the awkward conversation she had with Ron she wasn't sure if she could handle anymore strange late-night encounters. She was, in fact, 99% certain that if Malfoy had chosen to try to speak with her, her head would have exploded from the stress. _Exploded.

_After accepting the abnormality that he wasn't going to say anything, not even one biting remark, she retreated back into herself and continued to watch the fire._

_He said nothing the entire night. They simply sat, arms pressed together, until the sun came bleeding over the horizon._

* * *

><p><strong>edited: 22/2012**


	3. iii

The itchy feeling of being watched continues to leech her energy for the next several days. Although Hermione is used to the unnerving thoughts and discomfort, she can't shake the fact that something is decidedly more _real_ about the feelings now. They're long fingers, personified and choking her.

Before work that morning she goes to a muggle coffee shop and orders their morning roast, black. She detests black coffee.

Sitting at a table in a corner, so as better to watch the other people in the store, she lets the hot liquid burn her tongue until she's numb. Her mouth tastes like dirty sandpaper. She lets her eyes wander over a newspaper someone left on the table from the day before.

Front page news: politics, murderers, natural disasters. But nothing good. She scans an article about petroleum prices idly.

The bell chimes to signal another customer entering the store and her eyes flick up to watch the door swing open. A man steps in, dressed in an oddly formal manner. Her heart beats erratically at the sight of his impossibly blonde hair. No muggle had hair that white unless they were eighty. Her eyebrows furrow and she has no explanation for her racing heart.

Hermione watches Draco Malfoy approach the counter, place his order, hand over a few pounds. He peruses the coffee beans sitting in a basket near the register and scoffs at the prices. She watches him intently; her hand is on her wand despite knowing she can't use it.

She's terrified. She's absolutely terrified without a clue as to why when she watches Malfoy simply wait for his coffee. It's unreasonable to an extent, the logical part of her knows, but she glowers at the back of his long black cloak. He must feel someone watching him because his steely eyes sweep over the room until they finally land on her.

Hermione might as well have transfigured into a deer and launched herself in front of a train with the look on her face. Malfoy, for some odd reason, does absolutely nothing. He watches her watch him, unblinking, until Hermione thinks her spine will snap from the pressure of her clenched back muscles. His tea is placed before him and still his eyes remain. His face is impassive, hair shorter and more tame than she can remember last seeing. Everything is fuzzy. She shivers and breaks eye contact to put on her sweater.

When she looks up once more he's walking towards her. She stands impossibly fast and almost knocks her half-empty drink off the table. Stars swirl in front of her.

They stand straight and appraise each other.

She had forgotten how tall he really was – significantly taller than Harry or Ron. She flinches unknowingly at the thought of her two friends and looks at the silver buttons on Malfoy's vest. He could have been wearing a tuxedo sans jacket for all the regality he presented himself with.

"Granger," he speaks steadily. His voice is the same, but also changed. She doesn't know what to do. She says nothing. All manners and formalities are lost to her.

They continue to look at each other for another minute before he sits down.

"I did not invite you to sit with me, and this is hardly the time to join each other for breakfast," she snaps. His eyes darken.

"So soon with the malicious remarks are you Granger? It's a bit early for that, don't you think?"

She narrows her eyes at him. Why isn't he taunting her? Calling her names, breaking her down, ruining her life?

"It's never too early to dole out what is deserved of someone," she corrects him.

He shakes his head at her and smirks. "And here I thought you had changed."

She scowls. "Don't presume to have me pegged with one cursory glance across a shop."

He shrugs and eyes her black blouse. "I just figured you had the new mindset to match your new wardrobe. Is looking like a corpse supposed to be attractive this season?"

In spite of herself, Hermione feels her insides clench at his comment. She hasn't truly looked at herself in ages. She knows that she has stopped eating and grown thinner, and perhaps she's a bit pale due to all the time she spends working in the musty bookshop or simply at home, but she can't look that different, can she?

"And I see you're the same as ever," she retorts. His eyes flick back up to her own, done with scouring the rest of her body. She twitches under his gaze.

"Don't presume to have me pegged with one cursory glance across a table," he says simply. The smirk is back and he sips his tea, eyes burning her from over the rim of the paper cup.

She grinds her teeth. "What are you doing here anyway? You hate muggles."

He purses his lips. "I do not _hate _muggles…I just find their way of life to be simple and foolish." He shudders despite himself. "Blech," he mumbles.

Hermione feels a grin but stops herself. "Inconsiderate ass," she bites out. He shakes his head at her.

"Ever the charmer."

"Why are you sitting here? What are you even doing in London?"

"I happen to enjoy this shop. That's why I'm here."

"Malfoy. You don't enjoy anything."

"That's not true! I enjoy…"

He pauses and Hermione's lips twitch.

"My point exactly."

"No, I enjoy…rain. And freshly cut grass. Or a good novel." He crosses his arms at her and nods once. "There."

"A good…a good novel? I didn't know you could read."

He furrows his brow and scowls.

"You wouldn't know a good novel if it hit you in the face." She lets herself grin lopsidedly briefly at him. He tilts his head and something changes, but she can't place her finger on it. A little bit of him warms to her.

"Granger, my marks were just as high as yours in school, so watch your mouth."

"Dream on," she remarks airily. He shrugs, unperturbed.

"Yes, well, my knowledge and mindfulness seemed to suit you just fine during the War. You weren't complaining _then_, now were you?"

Hermione draws a strange blank in her head. Her memory skips and clicks like a broken record as she tries to recall her relations to him.

"_You're going to freeze if you don't put on a heavier cloak."_

"_I don't need you to watch my every move."_

"_Everybody needs somebody, Granger."_

Everything is foggy.

"_Everything is wrong."_

He is silent in the wake of his words. She watches him as he shifts in his seat. She seals herself back up.

"_Your hands are like ice. But that's okay."_

Her sweater is too thin, she decides.

"Granger. Why are you staring at me? It's disturbing," he scoffs at her. "You should probably blink before your eyes glaze over any further and you go blind."

Despite his tone, she knows he thinks something is wrong with her. She can tell in the curious furrow of his pale brows and the questions in his eyes.

Hermione doesn't move. She feels the air filter through her throat and fill her lungs, but otherwise, she's empty. The miniscule amount of coffee she's consumed is twisting her stomach in uncomfortable knots but she has no appetite to sate the acid.

"You are still a rude, foul and pathetic git," she suddenly tells him. "You will never change."

She sits for a few more seconds and watches as his face twists into anger and shock at her nerve. Something serious is wrong and he knows. He knows. She blinks idly before she stands to walk away.

She's two steps out the door but her mind is already a thousand miles away, the past half hour forgotten.

00

"_You'll spoil your dinner, you know," Hermione reminded them._

_Three heads looked up, mouths full, to appraise her._

"_I don't think you understand, 'Mione," Harry told her once he had swallowed a bite of bread. _

"_Boys are _always _hungry," Ron told her. She was surprised he had managed to speak around the giant hunk of food he had crammed into his mouth._

_Hermione's eyes flickered to the other boy – man – in the room and she watched him. He casually bit into an apple, cooly regarding the other males as if they were spitting on his shining reputation. _

"_Malfoy doesn't seem to be stuffing his throat mindlessly, and he's a boy," she reminded them. Draco's eyes turned from his bread to watch hers while Ron and Harry shrugged. _

_He finished his bite. The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile, one that only she could see, and her face flushed. His eyes darkened ominously at the red on her cheeks and she turned away._

"_Nevermind," she told them, leaving the room._

_She left to the cold air outside of the tent, breath shuddering through her frame as she recalled his face watching hers intently. She walked idly for several minutes. She pressed a hand to her churning stomach and swallowed thickly. She was better than her emotions._

_They would never know. Never._

_Turning to go back after her heartbeat had settled, Hermione stumbled and flinched at the face suddenly staring down at her._

"_What? Did you _follow _me?" she said harshly. She flinched internally; she hadn't meant to sound so rude._

_He didn't bother to look surprised at her outburst and simply watched her. She backed up slowly._

_He was developing a nasty habit of just staring at her and apart from being rude it was extremely disconcerting. His eyes saw everything._

"_Why so red? Something wrong?" he asked easily. She tried to hold her ground but he merely lowered his head, hair falling into his eyes, and moved closer. She put a hand behind her back to cushion the inevitable hit of a tree against her back._

"_What do you want?"_

"_I'm still trying to figure that out," he murmured in a rare show of honesty. Her heart sputtered to a near stop._

_Hermione opened her mouth to retort but he placed his index finger over her lips. She shivered and closed her eyes._

_She felt his breath against her ear before his mouth moved to her jaw, trailing slowly down to the sensitive skin of her neck._

"_Draco, stop."_

_He put an arm on the tree above her head, trapping her. His other hand wrapped around her waist and he pulled himself to her._

"_No," he said simply. She opened her eyes to look into his own. "I don't think I will."_

_Hermione turned her head to the side while he tucked a curl behind her ear. _

"_You can't do this. It's not right," she protested. _

"_There is no right and wrong like that, anymore, don't you see? It's alright," he told her. He smelled like winter and cinnamon. He was incredibly sure of himself for someone who didn't know what they wanted._

_She briefly contemplated burying her face in his shoulder – a place she knew it would fit well – before pulling away and going back in the direction she had come from, heart racing once more. He let her go easily. He turned and she saw the frustration blow over his face like a storm before she frowned._

"_I'm sorry," she said._

* * *

><p><strong>edited: 22/2012**


	4. iv

The next week at breakfast Hermione hears a strange tapping on her window. She pauses, spoon full of yogurt halfway to her mouth, nerves frayed and tingling. She grips her wand out of habit before she glances at the window.

Hedwig.

She opens the shutters wide to allow her in and finds a dusty treat to give to the weary owl before taking the letter in her beak, recognizing Harry's script on the envelope. She smiles a little before she pulls her hair back and sits down to read it.

_Hermione,_

_Ginny and I have an announcement to make, and I would love if you could come to the burrow this Saturday to hear. We'll all be there; everybody misses you. _

_Please come – it would mean the world to us. To me._

_All my love, _

_Harry_

She lets the letter fall to the table. She hasn't braved a step outside of her apartment save for work and the brutal incident at the coffee shop in London in months. She probably owes at least a couple hours at the Weasley's to her friends, so they can ensure she's still breathing or some other nonsense. Apart from that she misses them. They've been her closest friends for years. Maybe some of her only _real _friends. She shrugs in defeat and resolves to go.

Part of her is giddy at seeing them again. Harry, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley…Ron. She writes a quick response to Harry to ensure that she will go and gives it to Hedwig. She brushes a feather on top of the white owl's head before watching her fly away.

00

_This was the only open land they had camped on. Hermione could see the river and smell fresh mountain air and she felt freer than she had in years. _

_They had been traveling for days, weeks, months, listening in on that stupid radio for news of any deaths of people they knew. She was getting so sick and tired of constantly traveling in fear that she thought she might collapse any day. But she had to be strong. She knew Harry felt the same burden, but she thought maybe he felt much worse than she. He was, after all, the chosen one. And who was she to complain about camping for a bit?_

_She kept her frustrations and struggles to herself. The only person who was vocal at all about his discomfort was Ron. Harry just grimaced a lot and Malfoy was…Malfoy. It wasn't like she had ever seen him smile before – truly smile – there was no way it was going to happen out in the woods or on a river bank or a mountain or an island or some other obscure place. _

_She cooked, slept, helped brainstorm about the remaining horcruxes, and thought. _

_Actually, she had far more time to think than she probably had ever wanted or needed. Not that she minded, of course. She was still an intellectual at heart._

_But she kept thinking of her parents. The spell she had cast before walking out the door. She felt itchy every time she tried to remember their faces, like maybe she was forgetting them back. _

_Sometimes she thought that maybe forgetting everything wouldn't be so bad. _

_She wouldn't have to think about all the dead people in the streets or the children without parents or the unforgivable curses or the awful way Harry fell to the ground when his scar hurt. She wouldn't remember the way Ron's face fell when she turned him away, the way Draco smirked at her when she blushed, the way gripping her wand made her hands turn white. And she would never have to remember Voldemort's face. _

_It would be so easy._

_She sighed and looked up into the emerging night sky. Nothing was easy. And if something was, she would be about 99% sure that she was doing something wrong._

_Hermione saw Draco standing by the shoreline with his arms crossed and back tall. She walked towards him with her eyes trained on the pebbles near his feet. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had her attention. Rather, she shifted her gaze to the water when she reached his side. _

"_Hello," she said quietly. The water rushing over rocks was soothing. It was musical. His eyes moved to glance at her but his body remained motionless._

"_Granger," he acknowledged. _

_The two stood silently for a few minutes. Hermione felt dwarfed by the mountains. She could see her reflection in the river and she reached out to touch it. Her face was lost to the ripples. She rather liked being this simple. For those few moments, anyway._

_Draco watched her._

"_I'm curious," she finally said._

"_Aren't you always?" he murmured and rolled his eyes._

_She ignored his quip. "What is it that finally made you join us?" She buried her hands in the damp rocks and mud. It was freezing cold. "What was…the final straw for you?"_

_His spine tightened. She could sense the discomfort rolling off of him in waves but chose to ignore it. She wanted his story. _

"_I realized that I had been working my entire life for approval that would never come." He kicked a rock. "My father…he was always so angry and so disappointed. Losing a quidditch game, scoring less than perfect on an exam, failing to kill Dumbledore…I was always wrong for him."_

_Hermione stood and faced the water, letting the mud dry on her hands like a second skin. Her problems suddenly seemed inadequate in the face of his life._

"_And I would rather be right for myself than right for him," Draco said quietly. "Although I doubt I will ever live up to my own expectations. I will always live in the darkness of his shadow." _

_Hermione nodded. He had abbreviated but she accepted his hesitation. Trust was the hardest part and she rarely satisfied herself either._

_Words and thoughts swam before her vision. She wasn't entirely sure what she was doing, but she felt compelled by something she didn't quite understand. _

_She felt compelled to give him a piece of herself._

"_Ron thinks he loves me, but it's because he's afraid," she spoke suddenly. "He wants to be with me because he doesn't want to die and never have known that kind of closeness. But I don't want somebody to be with me because it's convenient or because they are afraid of death. I want someone to be with me because for them I'm the only one. There is no other. I want…a mutual need…" Hermione trailed off. She looked at the stars. They were little pinpricks of truth in the black box of her life. Astronomy was simple science. Space was infinite, as was time; of that, she was 99% certain._

_In her musings she missed the way Draco shifted and clenched his fist. She missed the way his eyebrows furrowed and pupils dilated. If she had looked away from the sky for one single second she would have seen his heart in his face and known._

_She stepped forwards to wash the mud from her hands in the freezing river._


	5. v

Hermione wakes to a rainy Wednesday. Her immediate reaction is to be upset; today is her day off and she had hoped to spend time outside reading on the balcony, or maybe walking through the park and enjoying the sunshine. As it is, she chooses to remain buried under the covers for an extra twenty minutes and listens to the soft pattering of raindrops on the window.

She burrows into the warmth of her bed and lifts sleepy brown eyes to the gray sky outside the shades. Of course this happens to her. She sighs and closes her eyes.

Unbidden, thoughts begin to dance through her mind as she hums to herself. She thinks idly of the Yule Ball, which leads to dancing and consequently Viktor Krum. She pictures his strong face and hard eyes. The way he carries himself through the hallway as if he's better than everybody else. The way he dances with her, lifts her effortlessly. The weeks and months before Cedric died had been blessed with girlish fantasies that she fears she'll never get back. Despite all the time and effort spent on Dumbledore's Army that was the last year she had truly felt free to be herself and to grow. Ever since the return of Voldemort she's felt stunted and stuck in a stand-still. She's supposed to be twenty years old and instead feels ten.

Hermione comes to the conclusion that she rather dislikes bulky men and brunettes in particular. She ignores the rest of her musings as well as the roots of her new preferences in lieu of trying to remember where she put the dress robes from that night.

She springs out of bed newly energized and flies to her closet. She will find the dress or get lost in the depths trying.

She turns on the radio to an early-morning acoustic station before she delves in. After several minutes of sifting through the clothing and discovering three nearly identical sweaters, she decides to make a day out of her project. She will sort and organize the clothes by type and subsequently color; anything she doesn't want she can give away.

It's easy at first; she keeps most of the black pieces and all of the things knitted by Molly Weasley. The holey or shrunken articles she puts aside to pack into boxes and store.

After a half hour she comes across a strange shirt. It's long-sleeved and gray with odd holes and stains all over it. She wonders why she bothered keeping such a tattered garment, let alone buying it so large in the first place. She picks it off its hanger and holds it in her hands. The material is soft and probably expensive. She frowns and holds it up to better examine it in full while shaking out the wrinkles.

The comforting and familiar scent of winter hits her like a wave. It's mixed with the burning stench of sulfur. She wrinkles her nose in confusion. How has she not noticed this before?

She runs a finger over the largest hole on the right side, under the arm, and feels a peculiar tingle in her side. Almost like a cramp. She holds the shirt in one hand and moves the other under her sweater to feel her side.

Hermione's blood runs cold at the feeling of a scar. She knows without looking what it is. Slightly raised flesh; bumpy and irregular against the smooth expanse of her torso. She had been…stabbed?

But when…?

Her head throbs and she throws the gray shirt on the floor in frustration. Why can't she remember anything? She turns off the radio and sits on the floor, her back on the wall.

It isn't like her to forget such important things, much less something as big of a deal as…as getting _stabbed_, for Merlin's sake! This is a nightmare. She feels the sudden urge to apparate to the Burrow and question Ron, but something odd in the back of her mind quells the urge and she stays put. She feels utterly helpless.

She thinks even of owling Harry again to calm her nerves. Perhaps she's anxious to ask in person if something had happened? But that won't do, either. She twitches in discomfort and annoyance.

Her breath catches in her throat as she thinks of a solution.

Draco Malfoy. She stands too fast and clutches her head as she sees stars swirl in her vision. Where did that thought come from? Since when has he ever become a suitable solution for…well, anything? She scoffs and shifts her weight. After she stares at the shirt on the floor for a few more minutes she bites her lip and decides to go with it. What's the worst that could happen?

Hermione quickly goes to her desk to write a note.

_Malfoy – _

_I'm cleaning and came across something rather unsettling. If you have the time, could you drop by for a bit and help me sort out my confusion?_

_Hermione_

She taps her chin with the end of her quill before she adds a line.

_P.S. If you mock me for asking for help I will not hesitate to hex you. That is all._

She nods and gives the letter to her own owl and sends her away. She stands and watches the clouds churn for a moment before she lets her back hit the wall and slides down to the floor.

He arrives in less than half an hour to her puzzling letter. She jumps at the sound of his footsteps outside of her bedroom but apart from holding the shirt closer to her body she doesn't move.

Malfoy pushes her door open and enters her bedroom looking like a madman. His piercing eyes seek out her huddled form on the floor. He shifts uncomfortably and his hand twitches. His fingers are white with the pressure from holding his wand.

"Why are you so scared?" He asks as he moves to kneel beside her.

"Good heavens, you look like you've just wrestled with the Whomping Willow," Hermione says quietly. Draco's gaze snaps to her own when she speaks. His tie is loose and hair in disarray. His eyes look tight with worry. Her letter is clutched in his right hand. He holds his ground in silence for a few moments and they watch each other.

"What in the world is so worrisome that you tear me from a business meeting to come help you…investigate?" he sneers. She looks down at the shirt in her hands and his eyes follow her finger.

"A shirt?" he asks carefully. "You owled me for…for a shirt. Because…why?"

Hermione sighs and looks at her lap. "It's just…look at it," she says quietly. Draco watches her for a second before he moves to further investigate the bundle. He picks it carefully from her hands and his eyes widen at the state it's in. Although she has previously thought it impossible, his face becomes a shade paler. He turns it over in his hands and looks back at her.

"Come here," he says gently. The breath leaves her lungs in a quiet gasp as his hands find her waist and pull her to a kneeling position. She shivers when his fingers travel up under the hem of her sweater and trace over the new-found scar.

"You could have asked me instead of…_molesting_ me," Hermione says weakly. Her eyes flutter as she puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

She nods. "Just dizzy."

He keeps his hand where it is, tracing lightly over the jagged skin. Hermione lets her eyes remain closed as she familiarizes herself with his scent once more.

"This is my shirt," he says. Had Hermione been in the right state of mind she would have denied that his statement was true. As it is, with his hand resting on her skin and her body so weak, she can't move. "What happened to you?" he questions rhetorically.

Clearly, she had been stabbed. Why someone would choose to stab her rather than try to harm her with magic, she has no idea. The fact that she's not more disturbed at rediscovering this or that she couldn't remember it in the first place doesn't cross her mind.

Hermione shrugs into him. He stands and brings her with him. A fierce wave of dizziness causes her to stumble and trip over his feet further into his grip. The blackness and stars won't clear from her eyes for a solid minute.

She is deaf and blind to the world for one beautiful, tragic minute. Sixty seconds of peace.

A whisper of something makes its way across the front of her brain.

"_Faith."_

She pauses and for a moment the stars and blackness remain, but she remembers everything with clarity. All the little bits.

Then everything is gone.

She shakes her head and brings a hand up to her throbbing temple. When she opens her eyes and sees Draco nothing makes sense anymore.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" she says idly. She backs up and notices the mess on the floor. Sweaters everywhere.

"Oh, for the love of – Hermione, are you really doing this again?"

She wrinkles her nose.

"Why are you acting so strangely?" he narrows his eyes at her.

"I'm not bloody acting strangely! God, what is it with everybody thinking there's something _wrong _with me?" she shrieks.

He holds up his hands in defense. "It's just a question, Hermione."

"And don't call me Hermione, for Merlin's sake! It's unnatural!"

He chuckles. "I don't think you know the difference between unnatural and downright abnormal anymore, because you fall into the latter."

She narrows her eyes. "Git."

He only shrugs. She doesn't remember when he got there or why he came in the first place. She also doesn't remember him being so good-natured, before.

She doesn't notice the tattered shirt he holds in his hands.

The laughter in his eyes quickly melts away and she sees him searching her. The vulnerability he suddenly possesses when looking at her makes her shrink back a bit. She's unaccustomed to Draco looking, much less acting, like he needs her.

She can't name her fear, but it's there. She is terrified. It won't leave. It's poison snaking through her blood and she still can't let it go.

00

_ Hermione gripped the wound in her side. It hurt to run, to breathe, to even think, she didn't know how she was still going, this was a nightmare. _

_She was so tired, so exhausted, so drained. She was tired of running from death eaters, from Voldemort, from the war, from being caught. She was especially tired of running from her thoughts and feelings. Everything just hurt, and she didn't know how to fix the hurt correctly. There was no textbook on how to fix herself. This was a problem she couldn't overcome. _

_One mistake, one slip-up, and she had nearly died. One moment where she wasn't looking over her shoulder for a death eater and she had been harmed. Not even by magic. A muggle weapon. Everything in her life was falling apart. She fell to the ground on her knees. _

_Malfoy, who had been running beside her, heard her body hit the ground and stopped. He stooped to kneel beside her._

"_We're not far enough yet," he told her in a panicked voice. _

"_I…can't," Hermione gasped. His face twisted in the most pained expression and Hermione's heart shuddered._

"_Lay down," he commanded. Hermione eagerly let herself fall to the ground. He rolled her onto her back and began muttering strange words, a spell she had never heard._

"_Vulnera Sanetur," he said. He repeated it at least three times. Hermione's head slowly cleared and she watched his hands roam over her side. He still looked so worried. _

"_Thank you," she whispered. His eyes shot up to hers and his hands moved to grip her own._

"_We need to run," he told her._

_They stood and continued for several more minutes, until Malfoy was sure they had not been followed. _

_Hermione leaned backwards into a tree to try to catch her breath. She felt especially weak, probably due to blood loss, she figured. _

_Draco approached her. "Tell me you're alright," he demanded. _

"_Yes, I'm fine now."_

_His shoulders sagged and he bent to a crouching position. He rested his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands for a long time. Hermione said nothing._

"_I don't know what I could have done…you don't know…I can't…" He couldn't get his words out properly. _

"_Malfoy," Hermione started. He stood too quickly._

"_If you had died, if I had to go back to them without you…without…"_

"_Draco."_

_He spun at the sound of his first name._

"_Thank you," she repeats. He saved her life..._

_He nodded after a moment but his chest did not stop heaving with his heavy breath. He suddenly ran a hand through his hair._

"_You don't understand."_

_Hermione frowned. "What do I not understand?" _

"_I love you," he told her._

_Everything changed. She shifted on her feet. Her heart wanted to burst from her chest._

"_Are you afraid to die?" she questioned. He frowned._

"_I'm not Weasley," he told her. She crossed her arms. _

"_I don't think you do."_

_She was in denial. He couldn't love her here, in this place, as she was. It wasn't right._

_Or maybe it was the only right thing left. She didn't know. She was so lost._

_He scoffed. "You want to know how I know, then? Because it's really rather simple and I happen to think you're making assumptions based on past experience," he spat._

_She shifted on her feet. "Yes," she told him, somewhat unsure._

_He ran a hand roughly through his hair again. That seemed to be a nervous habit of his. She had never seem him nervous before. "When I think of all the promises I had made to the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters…" _

_The hair on Hermione's neck prickled at the mention of his past cohorts. _

"_All the promises to the Order or Harry or Ron. I don't care anymore." He made a disgusted noise and turned to look through the trees at the sun setting in the distance. "It doesn't matter how many threats I receive on my life, it doesn't matter how many people fall on the wayside if I choose you – because yes, woman, I _choose you _– I don't bloody care anymore."_

_He turned to her and something dark reflected back at her from the depths of his eyes. Some great evil was at war within him and she didn't know what to say._

"_If I had to choose between every _damn_ person in the Order or you I would pick you. Every single time."_

_How had this happened? When had he…?_

_He shook his head madly. "And that's the worst part! Logically, I know that it would be better in the long run to choose more people over one silly girl, but I simply can't. It wouldn't matter if I had to choose you over the entire wizarding world. I would still do it. And I hate that."_

_Logic was failing everybody these days._

_Draco turned away from her, seemingly repulsed by himself. Hermione watched the muscles in his back, visible through his thin shirt, tense and shift as he tried to breathe. She took a careful step towards him, and then another, and then one more until she was close enough to put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened. The warmth of his skin soaked through to her bones._

"_I love you," she said. He lifted his head. She moved to rest her own in the middle of his back and she pressed her lips to him. He was shaking terribly._

"_You do not," he accused. She smiled and shook her head, safe between his shoulder blades._

"_And yet I do."_

_He relaxed and turned towards her and leaned back into a tree. He reached for her and she easily moved into him. He held her and kissed her neck._

"_How did this happen to us?" he asked, voice muffled. Draco lifted his head and gave her a rare smile before kissing her. She meant to answer his question but found she was otherwise occupied and unable._


	6. vi

**A/N: **Thank you to Camille for her lovely reviews!

* * *

><p>Come Saturday Hermione is itching to leave her house more than she thinks she should be. She dresses warmly for the cool weather, both a heavy jumper and cloak in tow for her visit. She binds herself up tightly before apparating to the burrow. She lands purposefully in the fields to give herself time to let the icy air of November distract her from troubling thoughts. She twitches nervously when she remembers the time death eaters burnt the Weasley home to ashes. She looks over her shoulder.<p>

Upon approaching the door she knocks lightly before opening it a crack.

"Hello?" she calls. Immediately Molly's voice resounds throughout the house disembodied.

"Hermione! Is that you, dear?" She rounds the corner from the living room to the kitchen sharing a blindingly bright smile. "It _is _you! Ronald! Harry, Ginny, everyone – Hermione's arrived!"

Hermione shuffles across the floor to embrace the woman. She inhales the warm scents of bread and earth – oh, how she's missed this house. More than she's let herself realize.

The sound of pounding footsteps on the stairs quickens her heartbeat. Ginny's head pokes over the railing from a higher level.

"Hermione?" she calls.

"Yes, I'm here," Hermione chuckles. _Home away from home_, she thinks. The house is exceedingly bright; a far cry from her own apartment and a welcome change.

Ginny enters the kitchen. The shocking red of her hair falls over her shoulders in pretty curls.

"It's so good to see you, Hermione," she gushes. With a smile Hermione hugs her old friend close.

"It's wonderful to see you too, Ginny. It's been too long," she laments. Something in Ginny's eyes appears to question her but she brushes it off as a trick of light.

In a matter of minutes the kitchen is filled with the entirety of the Weasley family, including their wives and various children. Hermione feels almost uncomfortable around all of the people but smiles brightly anyway.

"Where's Malfoy?" Ginny asks amid the voices. Hermione frowns and looks at her friend.

"What do you mean, where's Malfoy? Is he coming?"

Ginny's confused. "Of course he is," she says. "Hermione, is it just me, or are you especially forgetful today?"

"Not to mention a bit pale," a voice calls. "But that's nothing new."

"You're one to talk," Harry teases the newcomer. Hermione looks up to see Malfoy saunter into the kitchen. He eyes her face cautiously before narrowing his eyes and turning to Harry.

"Good to see you," he says. He sounds like he truly means it.

"Likewise," Harry grins. Hermione blanches slightly at their clasped hands before coughing into her sleeve.

The group talks for another few minutes before Harry grabs Ginny's hand and looks expectantly at the crowd.

"Well first, thank you all for coming. It's really excellent seeing your faces again; some of you it's been too long."

He pointedly looks at Hermione and she blushes. Ginny giggles good-naturedly behind her hand at Hermione's embarrassment. She sees Ron out of the corner of her eye rocking back and forth on his feet.

"As for our announcement, well…"

The room is hushed.

"Ginny and I are engaged!"

There's silence for all of half a second before the room erupts with deafening noise.

"What! When did this happen?"

"Ginny, I had no idea-"

"I knew it all along, seeing as I'm his best mate, you know?"

"Oh, the wedding will be magnificent!"

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh-"

Everybody is smiling. Hermione, too, smiles brightly for what feels like the first time in ages. She steps towards Ginny and hugs her friend tightly before turning to Harry.

"I'm so happy for you, Harry," she says, and she means it. Truly.

"Thank you, Hermione." He pulls her closer and puts a hand on her back. "I'm only sorry it took so long for me to be this happy, yeah? Now we just have to get you and Ron settled down and we'll be set, won't we?"

Creases appear on her forehead at what she thinks Harry is insinuating. Rubbish. She and Ron have gone there and long since returned; they're the couple that is suitable in thought but not in practice. Harry backs away and grins cheekily at the only blonde in the room.

"Not to mention our dear Malfoy, over here, eh?" He claps his friend on the back and pulls him in. Hermione realizes belatedly he only meant they should settle down individually, not necessarily with each other. She blows a piece of hair out of her eyes.

"Drinks!" Harry calls. Malfoy cracks a rare half-grin before shrugging out of Harry's grasp. The other man doesn't notice and moves to hold his fiancé instead.

Hermione watches as the family serves themselves, laughing and playing. She stands in solitude on the fringe of the celebration, awkward and unsure of how to interact despite how well she knows them. She feels Malfoy's icy eyes watching her carefully.

She picks up a glass of pumpkin juice and drinks it slowly.

Turning, she almost collides with Ron. She barely steadies her glass in time to avoid spilling juice on his striped sweater.

"I'm sorry," she manages. He steadies her swaying frame with one hand.

"Easy there, 'Mione," he says softly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm quite fine. Why does everyone keep asking me that?" she laughs to herself. Absurd, all of them.

"You just look a bit…odd, is all," Ron amends. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "We miss you around here, you know? You should come visit more often." His eyes move briefly to watch Malfoy from across the room. "Anyway, I just want to tell you…that you can talk to me, you hear? If things are going wrong?"

Hermione digests this fact quickly and nods easily. "Of course, Ronald. I know that."

He pauses but nods once and holds her. "Missed you, really," he says softly. She holds him back, eyes clenching shut briefly. His sweater is prickly. He lets her go and walks back to Harry. Hermione sees Malfoy looking at her with narrowed eyes and she shrinks into her jumper. She leaves her glass on the table and quietly walks outside to get some air.

She breathes in the fresh scent of the grass. The clean smell clears her head of the wispy clouds brewing a storm.

Sometimes she wishes there was a way she could transfigure herself into a bird and fly away. To see the world and never worry about anything being left behind. She knows this is possible, of course; nearly all things are possible with magic. But she is acutely aware of the consequences of brash actions.

Besides, if she's to become a bird, there'll be no turning back. Birds cannot speak incantations or spells.

She hears the front door open and close behind her.

Draco Malfoy walks to her side, elbow brushing her own, and looks at the sky. A thick cloud blots out the sun but white light still peeks around the edges.

"We need to talk, you know," he tells her. She shrugs.

"You can talk and I might listen. I don't need to do anything with you."

He turns suddenly. "What is your problem? What is with this nasty attitude you've picked up? Why do you shut yourself away from everybody and come around simply to be a nasty _witch?_"

She eyes him coolly. "I am a witch," she reminds him.

"You know what I mean."

"Ever the eloquent one, I see, Malfoy," she squints at the horizon.

He moves in front of her. "Since when do you call me Malfoy?"

Hermione watches him. "Since when do I not? More importantly, _why does it matter? _Who in the blazes cares which name I call you by? A name is a name is a name," she says bitterly. "Witch, Granger, _mudblood_ – they are all the same. All synonymous with _me_."

Malfoy is silent in his shock and fury.

"Why are you so thin?" he suddenly demands. "At the coffee shop. I saw. I know you've lost weight."

She pulls her cloak tighter around her shoulders defensively.

"Stupid Malfoy. Never discuss weight with a girl," she grinds out. She tries to brush past him and move back into the house but he grips her elbow. She pauses. He presses his thumb and middle finger together around her bicep and there's still room to spare.

"You have long fingers," she defends.

"Hermione. Why aren't you eating?"

She shrugs. "I am eating. Get off me."

She tries to pry his tightening fingers off her arm and he lets her.

"You need to tell me what's going on," he finally says.

She whips around, suddenly and unspeakably angry. "I _need_ to do absolutely nothing," she spits. "Stop using that word! _Need! _Don't you dare presume to tell me what I do and do not _need!"_

Without saying goodbye she disapparates with a loud _pop!_ full well knowing she's blowing off her friends.

She forgets that Malfoy is close to her. He reaches out to grab her arm before she can register his movement.

They wind up on the floor of her living room. She shudders at the impact and grimaces at her aching hipbone. She scowls at him. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing, grabbing onto me like that? Get out!"

"No," he says strongly. "Not until you talk to me."

"Since when do you give a rat's ass about talking? Get out of my apartment before I _hex_ you out!"

"You can't threaten me," he tells her, stepping forward. She puts up an arm in defense.

"I can bloody well threaten you all I want, Malfoy. Get away from me."

He takes another step forward. "Draco," he corrects her. He's backing her into a corner. She feels trapped.

"No," Hermione says. She's ready to scream; rip out her hair; cry. Anything to get him to just bloody leave her alone and get out of her apartment. He reaches a hand out to her. "Learn your lesson you half-wit – don't _touch me!"_

He grabs her arm and pulls her towards him. She resists.

"Don't!" she cries. Tears spill over her eyes. She's shocked. The last time she cried was…she can't even remember. She tries to breathe but finds she can't. "Get – off – of –me – "

She beats his chest with her fists between words. Of all the places in the world she could have been. Of all the people to see her as a mess. She should have become a bird when she had the chance; instead she's crying, clinging to Draco Malfoy, their bodies dimmed in the darkening light from outside.

He buries his hand in the hair at the back of her head before bringing his face to the crook of her neck and inhaling deeply. She can't move and she's scared. She simply continues to cry and struggle to breathe, gripping his cloak despite the voice in her head that screams at her to run away.

"You smell like him," he mutters darkly. Hermione stiffens a bit. As much as her compromising position will allow, at least. "I hate it." She shivers and cries. Draco moves his head away, tucks her into him and holds her tighter and waits for her breathing to slow.

It could have been minutes or hours; she'll never know. Her sight is blurring and she thinks she could probably faint if she holds her breath for a few seconds. She's about to test her hypothesis when Draco pulls her back. His eyes are uncharacteristically worried. She looks at the white-blonde of his hair in mute wonder.

There are so many things she will never understand. Even if she reads every book in the entire world.

Something pulses in her skull. There's an unspoken test that she has yet to stop failing, a silent force pushing and pushing her to the edge until she's forced to jump.

So she jumps.

"We have other things to be concentrating on, you know," she interjects into the silence. He sneers despite himself.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about now? What excuse could you _possibly_ have?"

She bites her lip and steels herself. "The War, Malfoy, you know – "

He holds up a hand. "Stop. Stop. What are you talking about?"

He's crazy. Truly. Hermione simultaneously feels the urge to laugh and slap him in the face. How could he have forgotten? Honestly?

"The _War_, Malfoy, how can you not remember? Voldemort – "

"Is dead," he finishes for her, looking strange. He looks like he's going to be sick.

She stares at him.

"The war is over, Hermione," he says.

Her shifty eyes snake over the room. "It is never done. We are never free."

Malfoy looks desperately sad. "Is that what you think?"

She pauses but nods in affirmation. "It's what I know."

He shakes his head and clutches her tighter. "You're wrong, Hermione," he starts. "We _are _free. Nobody is trying to hurt you. Nobody is _going_ to hurt you. It's not as if there's somebody lurking behind every corner to launch curses at you, honest," he says. He ducks his head and looks into her eyes.

She bursts. "You don't know! There is always somebody waiting to kill or get revenge or hurt people! We are always in danger and at risk! It is never done, never finished, we have done nothing to fix this – "

"We have done everything!" he roars. She shrinks back. "Don't you _dare_ say we have done nothing after all of the sacrifices that have been made! Everybody that died, all the people that were hurt...all of those blasted death eater meetings I sat through, waiting and watching and suffering endlessly to find something to use against the Dark Lord," he swallows. "Don't you dare say we did nothing. We did everything."

"People are going to die if we continue to do nothing," she says stubbornly. He scoffs at her.

"People always die, Hermione; that's how life works. You don't get to live in a world like this and live a perfect life. It's impossible. We do the best we can – how can you not see that?"

"Because, we have done nothing. I said that."

"You have no damn idea what you're saying, do you?" he asks incredulously. The mocking, doubtful look on his face is cruel.

"We need plans," she says blandly. Her eyes roll over the room blindly. What can she do to make him understand? "The Dark Lord needs to be defeated."

"What – what in the _hell_? Are you even listening to yourself? He is _gone_."

She clenches a fist. She can't take it anymore.

"Stop lying to me!" she screams. The sudden uproar of her voice creates a horrid contrast with the thick silence that resonates in the aftermath. Something in Draco's posture changes.

"I'm not lying," he says slowly.

"Voldemort is out there," Hermione says, sure of herself.

"Harry killed him," he reminds her.

"He did no such thing."

Draco frowns. "You remember nothing, do you? Not just…like you _literally _remember _nothing._"

"What? What is there to remember? Why does everyone keep saying that I'm _forgetting_ things?"

"That's why you're acting strange with me. Isn't it?"

"What are you talking about?" She backs away, suddenly fearful of the predatory look in his eyes.

"Hermione…" he says, "what have you done?"

The weight of his words hits her in the chest. She's done nothing, she's sure, and yet…

All of those foggy memories. The blanks in her life. Has she done that to herself?

"Nothing," she insists.

He looks at her.

The whispers creep across her mind again.

"_Faith."_

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

"_Faith," Draco smiled at her. She was taken aback. He never smiled. But it was beautiful all the same._

Her eyes open slowly.

_A single word, whispered into the empty air: _

"_Obliviate." _

She looks at him, dress shirt wrinkled and face a worried mess. She's cycled through too many emotions too fast in one night. She thinks herself to be on the verge of blacking out. Dying, even.

She won't be sorry if she closes her eyes and never opens them again.

"I obliviated myself," she tells him. Her mind is falling to pieces. He stiffens and pales.

"Tell me you're joking."

She's silent.

"You-you obliviated yourself. Erased your memory."

She nods. Everything is so fuzzy…

"How many times?" he asks her. She looks at his frame, outlined in the moon, and wants to hold him

_Confrontations in the dark. Stolen kisses. The death of her headmaster. Black hair and equally black eyes peering at her in class. A green flash. Laughter, a smile. Losing something she never had in the first place._

"I don't know, I don't remember," she laughs bitterly_. _

Ha, ha.

"Dozens of times."

She reflects on the blank slate inside her head and smiles a little. Draco looks about ready to stab himself in the chest with his wand.

"Do you understand how dangerous that is?" he says carefully.

She sways on her feet and doesn't bother to brush off his concern. Her bones ache. Her body is giving out, she knows. Trying to catch up with her head.

Hermione's knees buckle and he rushes forward to catch her just as they hit the floor. He shudders and swings her into his arms. Her head lolls against his chest and her vision cracks at the edges.

"Don't you see? All of these things you can't remember! The way you've been isolating yourself, acting, the way you deal with me – I knew something was going on and you weren't telling me. I was so…I was so _worried_. But now I know it's because you can't remember. So what happened?"

She suddenly finds herself lying on her bed with no recollection of how she's gotten there.

"You've stopped eating, haven't you? That's why you're so thin? Because you forget." Draco asks. She nods mindlessly, too drunk on her misery and confusion to formulate proper thoughts or words. Everything is lost to her. Draco's eyes are shining in the dim light. He moves to sit on the bed and he puts both of his hands on her, as if to tether her to here and now.

"What have you done to yourself?" he asks, distraught. His chest is heaving, white-blonde hair in a tangled disarray over his forehead. She desperately wants to put the hairs in place and bites her lip out of frustration at the feelings. How strange and misplaced. She couldn't have moved even if she tried, either way. Her energy is drained. His eyes are bright.

Draco begins to cry. Hermione's spine grows rigid despite her fatigue.

"Our childhoods were disrupted and ruined, we grew up far too fast and were forced down paths we didn't want to take. We were part of a war the moment we were born and it wasn't our damn fault!" He tells her. "But it's _over!"_

"Don't yell at me," Hermione says automatically. She resents making him cry. Her statement seems just to push him further.

"Why can't you just understand!" He grips his hair as if to tear it from his scalp. His eyes are tortured when he looks into her own and his voice chokes. "Just because things are no longer the way they were and still aren't the way they're supposed to be doesn't mean you can rot in here," he accuses. "You can't mess with your head trying to erase the parts that hurt."

"I am not _rotting_," she denies vehemently. "Don't act like you understand."

Does _she_ understand? Reality slips from her grasp like a wraith; she suddenly knows nothing.

"Hermione, you cannot continue to rip apart your mind simply to escape the reality of what has happened! You can't change the past! You _just can't_!"

And that's the final straw. She can no longer act like the 1% of uncertainty she holds within her is unimportant – he's living, breathing evidence of that, if what he speaks of their relationship is fact. She knows nothing of herself. And that, perhaps, is the hardest part of this for her. Admitting she doesn't know something. Admitting she knows nothing, anymore.

Hermione watches Draco's face as his icy eyes bore into her own, imploring her to understand him and to listen to reason – something she has long forgotten how to do.

Her wand always seems to tremble when she points it at her own head. And not just her wand but her entire arm, entire body, even her mind, heaving and shivering in the face of what's left of her life. She is bones, cracked and dry in the desert.

She doesn't fit the profile for the mental calamity she's wrought upon herself. Brightest witch of her class and here she is reduced to the equivalent of a train wreck. She prefers to keep things neat and orderly in her life and most of the time that's how it has gone. 99% of the time.

But that's the fatal flaw in her. It's an imperfection she no longer has the will or the ability to correct. It leaves room for error and mistake that she can't watch for anymore. That's what makes her human. And that small little hole in her control, in her certainty, leaves room for a whole lot of damage. She can't find solace in her certainty for she lost it long ago along with the ridiculous notions that truth and knowledge could solve all of her problems.

Her desolation has been undiscovered. She's estranged from nearly every single person in her miserable life. She has no parents anymore, and apart from the occasional owl from friends she bars communication to the best of her ability. Ron's left her alone, thinking it has something to do with their joint failures, but Harry knows better and persists. When she puts up enough wards to keep him out of her apartment and she sends enough convincing letters he lets it go thinking all she needs is time. Her plights continue unknown to him. He simply lets her go.

And she truly isn't hiding with the intention of being found. She just wants the time to take apart her mind and erase the evil, like breaking apart a jigsaw. The biggest puzzle ever attempted. She's unhinging herself bit by bit.

Never until that very night has she wanted to tell a single soul of the harm she's subjected herself to.

But there Draco stands, challenging her, egging her on as if he knows one iota of what's been going through her head. As if he understands her perfectly well. As if her suffering is simply an extension of his own and he has the correct tools to fix it.

She somehow finds the energy to sigh. He looks terrible. He picks her up far too easily and sits on the bed, arranging her carefully within his arms. She lets her head rest on his shoulder and she breathes deeply, too worn to fight any longer.

He's warmer than she's been in eons and she shudders.

This is what she's stolen from herself.

"At night, I lie awake in bed and I cannot sleep. I stare out the window and I want to cry but I no longer can, because clearly there is something very wrong with me."

He interrupts her. "Don't say that."

"I mindlessly talk to myself, whispering into the dark, hoping that somebody will hear me and end this. My life is not one I would choose for even my worst enemy," she pauses here and spares him a blank look. He flinches.

"I haven't been an enemy for a long time, Hermione," he says quietly.

"I can't complain. I've done this to myself, don't you see?" She feels a pricking behind her eyes at the sudden emotion behind admitting her fault. She thinks she won't cry again, but she's probably wrong. That seems to be a repeating pattern in her life lately and at this point she won't be surprised. "I go to work and I smile and complete my tasks and everything is utterly _normal_, and it truly is, don't you see? Most of the time, everything is completely normal."

Draco shifts his weight, tucking her head further underneath his chin. She fists his shirt in her hand and tries to curl tighter around him, to absorb his warmth, but she's still too fatigued to move.

"Normal for me, anyway," she adds. "Because I have lost touch with reality and no longer understand what normal should be.

"But then I go home and it hits me. It really, truly hits me. All of the things that have happened. All of the terrible, terrible things, and I don't know what to do – I don't know what to do. I don't know. _Everything changes_."

"It doesn't have to be that way," he tells her. He sounds as if he's run a marathon thrice over.

She shakes her head, because she of course knows more than he. At least she thinks that somewhere, at some point in her life, she might have. Not anymore.

"I sit at the kitchen table and cannot breathe, cannot think, can barely function through the weight of all that has happened. My entire body is numb and I don't know what to do, I can think of no way to help myself. And it's then that I turn to my wand, and-and the spells. I can't bear keeping all these things inside of me, Draco," she whispers. "They're poison."

He rubs her back. She is a child.

"I have lost all of my control. I have to get these feelings out of me, don't you understand?" She recognizes the wavering of her voice. "So I rip the stupid, _infernal_ things out of my head so I can go back to being _normal_, go back to the world of people who are living and actually _alive_, and I don't have to suffer. Until I come home again, at least."

He strokes her hair, too.

"I do this to myself," she says in a whisper. And she means it. The more she tells herself of this fact, this one, true fact that she still knows, the clearer it becomes. She casts the spells. It's her fault.

"No," he murmurs. "You did not."

He pulls back to look at her face. He's gravely serious.

"If you don't stop this, you will wind up on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's and _you will never see the light of day again. Do you understand me?"_

She nods.

"Why are you acting like this?" she asks him. She sounds positively horrid.

"You mean like I care about you?" he deadpans.

Hermione coughs a bit. Her temples are throbbing. Something clicks and she shakes her head.

"Lies," she says quietly. "Lies. Rubbish. Trash. You are a liar."

She can't remember how she got upstairs. Or when Malfoy arrived. She suddenly feels uncomfortable and tries to move but her legs won't work.

"What did you do to me?"

He brushes his thumb over a stray tear on her cheek. He looks at her, begging.

"What are you doing?" he says.

"What are _you_ doing?" she asks. Her arms shake violently at trying to support her in moving away from him. He holds her torso and she's stuck.

"You…you forgot what just happened…didn't you." He bites his lip. "Didn't you?"

Hermione's head swivels around to face him. "I don't know what you're doing here, but you need to leave. Now."

He trembles. "You forgot."

She shakes her head. "Get the bloody hell out of my apartment."

"You've done…damage…" he struggles to speak. She hears heartbreak in his voice and writes it off.

Lies, lies, lies. Trickery. Deception.

"All those months…you and I…"

"_What?_" she seethes. "There is no you and I! Don't reference to it as if-as if we were together, or something equally absurd!"

He examines her. He looks like death. Funny, she feels a bit like death.

"You're not joking, are you? Because if this is some stupid game, I don't want to play."

"I don't play," she says idly. Something breaks inside of him.

"You really don't remember," he says.

She shakes her head no, fed up and infuriated. "I don't even know what you're expecting me to remember that I can't remember."

He readies himself, for something, she doesn't know.

"I have to do this," he whispers.

Something snaps.

And she never comes back.

* * *

><p><strong>edited: 22/2012**


	7. vii

Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down  
>Yeah we couldn't destroy a single one<br>And history books forgot about us  
>And the bible didn't mention us, not even once.<p>

(Samson, Regina Spektor)

* * *

><p>"<em>And if you had stayed with Pansy?"<em>

"_Irrelevant, Granger, because I didn't."_

"_Then why not? If she wasn't right for you, then who is?"_

_00_

"_You think I chose this life? I _never _had a choice. Never."_

_00_

_There were hands on her back, pushing her forward, urging her on despite the exhaustion in her legs and sharp pangs in her spine._

_A whisper in her ear: "Keep going, love, we're almost there."_

_00_

"_You," he interrupted._

"_What?"_

"_It's always you. Every single time."_

"_Every night?"_

"_Without fail."_

_00_

"_I can hear them coming for me, I know they're out there. I see the lights in the trees…hear Him whispering my name in the wind…"_

"_Harry, you're going to beat him. You've got to."_

"_Sometimes I just don't know."_

_00_

_A pair of hands clenched into fists._

_Silver-white scars: _I must not tell lies.

00

_Fire in her ribs curling up her lungs and licking the sides of her trachea – _

_00_

_Draco rushed at her and gripped her face. His palms were warm and one hand went to the back of her head to fist into her hair. He pulled her to him and pressed their foreheads together. She swallowed thickly through her sadness._

"_I will never let them touch you," he said fiercely. "I don't care what happens. You will _not _be another byproduct of my mistakes."_

"_Draco-"_

"_No," he growled. Hermione looked into his eyes and saw his desperation. Seeing Draco reduced to such raw emotion set her on edge. It made the risk and terror more tangible. "You are all I have left," his voice cracked. "And they can't have you."_

_She nodded feverishly._

_This was it. The last stand._

"_I'm so afraid," she admitted. He kissed her forehead solidly and she closed her eyes. _

"_There is no other," he breathed. She shuddered._

_Hermione curled into him and he tucked her head under his chin. She breathed his scent deeply and pressed her face to his neck. _

_He held her like that, in the silence, until they both had to leave._

_He held her until the end._

_00_

When she wakes up there's something in her hand. She blinks slowly and reaches up to rub her eyes idly. Everything feels fresh and clean and painless.

Her first instinct is not to trust the apparent lack of misery, but she stops herself.

_Wait a minute._ She closes her eyes. There's no pain…and everything is as it should be. Things feel strangely right. There's a dark hole in her mind that she tries to poke at but otherwise brushes off for the time being. She feels…good. Why is she worrying about being in pain, anyway?

The object in her palm moves and it's not really an object at all but rather another hand entwined with her own. It's attached to a long limb and eventually a very blonde man with his head resting on her bed.

She wiggles her fingers while he sleeps and watches his back rise and fall.

The room she's in is clearly part of a hospital. What happened to her, she doesn't know, and she has this fuzzy thought in her head that it doesn't really matter. She's safe now.

She feels different. She doesn't know who she was before or who she is now. Every particle in the room seems visible to her, floating in slow motion, miniscule yet within her grasp.

She carefully withdraws her hand from the man's and swings her legs over the side of the bed. She wiggles her toes in an act of freedom. A smile breaks over her cracked and chapped lips when she stands for what seems like the first time and approaches the single window across the room.

_Everything is glorious and new._

She is a newborn within an adult body. The logic is lost on her but she no longer cares. She's happily residing within the 1% of uncertainty of her life. It's blissfully freeing not to care.

The man stirs behind her. She hears him groan as he stretches and joints pop. He moves to approach her. The tapping of his shoes on the linoleum reverberates through her chest, solid, as if he's the only thing linking her to the present. She's so light she could float away on a single whispered word.

He places a hand on her shoulder and the mindless smile is still upon her lips.

"Hermione Granger," he says.

She absorbs her name easily.

Hermione hears him swallow thickly and turns to face him. His eyes are piercing, his skin smooth and white as the walls.

"Do you remember me?" he asks. She watches his jaw clench once, twice.

A single heartbeat.

"No," she answers into the silence. The man's face remains unchanged. He watches her for a moment and she stares.

A slight nod.

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he informs her.

She shakes his hand without thinking about it.

"Nice to meet you," she murmurs.

The mindless smile.

Draco Malfoy places both of his hands upon hers and watches her closely. She suddenly feels exposed and naked in her childlike bliss. He can't even begin to penetrate the hazy bubble surrounding her thoughts, but maybe, she thinks, she can share herself one day.

"I have to speak with someone. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Draco leaves and she watches him go.

The only window in the room shows gray clouds, bleak in comparison to her new life. The rain seeps from the sky in never-ending torrents.

It won't stop, she knows, but it doesn't matter. Something tells her she is going home.

"She remembers absolutely nothing," Draco informs the medi-witch. His heart is currently lodged in his throat, his grief almost enough to choke him to death.

The witch, young and serene in her element, looks up at him. "That _was_ the desired result, Mr. Malfoy. With as much brain damage as she's suffered, the only logical solution was to get to the root of the problem. We had no choice but to erase everything. If we had simply worked to heal the damaged neurons and broken synapses, she would eventually have remembered her depression and repeated the damage. We were barely able to save her once…that last spell was it."

Draco nods jerkily. "I already know the logic," he spits. He runs a hand through his hair hurriedly. It hurts and he doesn't care.

She's essentially a child with all they've wiped from her memory.

One last _obliviate_ to save her life…

The irony isn't lost on him.

"She has no family here-"

"I am her family," Draco cuts off the nurse. She looks at him with a brief furrowing of her brows before she nods.

The witch is still looking at him. "Mr. Malfoy?"

He looks back at her once more, resignation written on his face. "Yes?"

"She will never be the same again, but she will grow and learn as a normal person would…she may not be the woman you knew but maybe she can grow into something better now."

Draco blinks.

The world will never know what this one girl went through to help save them all. And did they really need to know?

"Maybe," he says.

Hermione is running her fingers down the windowpanes when Draco walks back into her hospital room on the fourth floor of St. Mungo's. She turns to face him, ethereally waif-like with the dichotomy of her sickness and healing. Draco smiles grimly at her and walks slowly.

"You are to stay with me," he informs her. She nods as if she knew she would be with him all along.

"Are we leaving then?" She questions. It's the first time she's used her voice in weeks and it's pleasantly light. He nods jerkily at her and moves to a table where some folded clothes and a bag are resting. She watches him idly while playing with the hem of her hospital gown.

"What is to become of me?" She wonders, no uncertainty at all in her voice.

Draco stops momentarily in his packing and looks at her.

His lips quirk a little in the ghost of a smile – his demons have yet to be quelled – and feels his heartbeat deep within his chest, strong and steady in spite of it all.

"I suppose you'll just be," he tells her.

And so she is.


End file.
